Damsel In Shining Armor
by who smiles
Summary: Harvey Specter cares about few things, and fewer people; in return, few people care about Harvey Specter. Aka, the Five Times Harvey Needs Someone and the One Time Someone Needs Him. pre-2x07, Harvey/Donna


**Damsel In Shining Armor**

**Summary**: Harvey Specter cares about few things, and fewer people; in return, few people care about Harvey Specter. Aka, the Five Times Harvey Needs Someone and the One Time Someone Needs Him. pre-2x07, Harvey/Donna

notes: i'm supposed to be on vacation but i couldn't help but post this after tonights amaaaaazing episode, even though i wrote this last week. but, omg, _tonights._ _episode_.

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-one-

The number of times Harvey has fallen dangerously ill can be counted on one hand.

There's three times in total; the first was many years back, during college, and therefore, during his savage drinking years. It took one night and a few vicious rounds of beer pong to have him puking his guts up in a potted plant and passing out on said puke-covered plant until morning. He awoke with a headache, stomach ache, everything else ache, and spent the whole day throwing up with occasional breaks for moaning in agony.

The second time is after his first ever trial. He makes it back to his office before he passes out and no one could figure out what was wrong with him—hours later, he awoke with Donna's knitted shawl tucked neatly around his shoulders. Before he could thank her, he coughed and _hacked _and Donna refused to listen to him speak. She drove him to the Emergency Room and never even asked for her shawl back.

The third time is today—he's teetering precariously over Donna's desk, one hand clamped around the counter to steady himself. Behind him are Mike's light, jumpy footsteps, so he swallows hard and tries to look ready.

Mike swings up behind him, a file in hand, already talking about a loophole when he completely shuts down and gives Harvey a _look_.

Harvey blinks blearily; his eyes actually hurt and the bright office lighting isn't helping at all. The urge to vomit is hanging over his head and maybe he's still leaning to heavily on Donna's desk. "What?" he spits, too weak to put much venom behind it.

"You look terrible," Mike says bluntly, but there's worry in his voice. "What happened to you?"

"Nothing," Harvey answers. Then, "I lost a bet with the flu."

"Harvey, it's not flu season."

Well that's a little surprising. Harvey doesn't want to answer that, so he grunts and gestures to the file in Mike's hand with his chin.

"No," Mike says flatly. "You look like you're about to collapse right here, the case can wait." His eyes flick to Donna's empty computer chair. "Where's Donna?"

Though it takes effort, Harvey manages a raspy, "Don't know." his throat is killing him now, and his head is throbbing.

"You need to sit down." Harvey wants to object, but Mike is manhandling him into his office and awkwardly lowers him on the couch. Harvey is dying to crack a joke; the pain in his throat dissuades him. Instead he lolls his head to the side and _mmphs _and even he isn't sure what the means.

Mike isn't either. "Yeah, okay, enough of that," he mumbles. "I'm going to find Donna. You stay here and…take a nap or something, I don't know. If you're not better when I get back we will have words." He looks stern, so Harvey gives a simple nod and Mike leaves.

Harvey is fine, and he knows that. But he's already sitting down so he might as well close his eyes for a while…

When he wakes up, the only thing he smells is cleaning agent. Which means he's in a hospital.

He thinks, _that's nice, _and is moments away from falling asleep again when the fully functioning side of his brain _freaks out_.

Then he shoots up fast as lightning because he has this _thing _against hospitals and waking up in them without having any memory of getting there. Sitting up turns out to be a bad idea—his head spins and soon there are strong hands shoving his shoulders down again.

"Mghh," Harvey mumbles, trying to struggle against Mike's hands. Either he's weak or the kid's been working out, because his efforts are useless.

"Shut up," Mike says sternly. "Don't move around. Just…relax."

"Gphh," Harvey replies. He exhales slowly, cracks open one eyes and says, "Donna?"

"She's here," Mike assures him, "she just fell asleep like, two hours ago."

Harvey focuses all his strength on saying actual words. "Time?"

Mike gives a lazy glance at his watch. "Three-ish? Closer to four, really."

Harvey freezes. He's too tired to sit up again, so he melts Mike with his most intense glare. "In the—_nrghh_—morning?"

"Yeah, you've been out for a while. Should've seen Louis, he thought you died…" Mike's voice tenses. "It was pretty scary. Are you, uh, you want to tell me what happened to you, or are you going to insist that you're invincible and we're all imagining this?"

The glare intensifies, and so does Harvey's headache. He doesn't give Mike an answer, and the younger man eventually shakes his head and tells him to go back to sleep.

Harvey does sleep. But not because of Mike. There's a completely good reason for it that he'll think of later.

-two-

Harvey has a cute little list of people he wants to burn to the ground. He never erases names on it; once they're there, they stay put for life.

He stares at his little black book, because _Donna Paulsen _is written neatly inside it, and he isn't sure how he feels about that.

Okay, bullshit. He know what he feels. He feels disgusted, with himself, with Donna, with _himself. _It doesn't take a genius to see that he really, really likes Donna, and she's also on his list of people he would die for.

The night after he writes Donna's name down, he breaks his own rule and deliberately scratches it out. When he finishes he pours himself a scotch, plops down with his face in his hands, definitely doesn't cry.

Ten minutes later and he pulls out his phone with the intent to call Donna.

It dawns on him that he can't exactly call the problem to bitch about the problem, so he tucks the cell phone away and wishes like hell that time would reverse so none of this ever happened and he could have his best friend and excellent bitching-at partner back.

-three-

The words "Harvey", "needs", and "Louis" should never join forces to create a horrid sentence, Harvey thinks, yet here he is, with those very words leaving the mouth of his associate.

Mike looks haggard, and Harvey feels bad. Because Mike is too young to be fixing Harvey's problems, or even to bother trying. He doesn't say anything; simply swishes around his coffee and sucks it down like it could save his life.

When Mike turns away from Rachel Zane he's wearing a tired smile.

"You're going to win this trial," he says slowly, delicately, like he's putting an animal down. "Because Louis is going to help you."

"I don't want his help."

"But you need it." Harvey flashes a glare at Mike, who shrugs. "You do! Just like you need pop-culture references. Yeah, Louis is terrible, that's a fact of life, but he's also pretty competent." Harvey raises an eyebrow and Mike _squeaks_. "Not as competent as you, obviously! Just…he can bring something to the table that you can't."

Harvey rolls his eyes and stared at his coffee. "Like what?"

Mike gives his a deadpan stare. "The lawsuit our client is dealing with is from a little shit right?"

Harvey snorts.

Taking that as a sound of confirmation, Mike continues, "And who knows the mind of a little shit better than any of us?"

"Another little shi—oh," Harvey says. He makes a face. "Why did you think of that before I did?"

"Because you hate Louis."

"Yes, but this would be the perfect opportunity to call him a shit to his face without facing consequences." He pauses, shoves the drink into Mike's hand and smiles. "If you'll excuse me, I'm going to tell Louis exactly what he brings to the table."

Mike makes a tutting sound as he strolls away.

-four-

It's after midnight when Harvey drunkenly swaggers into Jessica's office, a relatively cheap drink in hand and a sloppy smile on his face. He's missing his jacket and tie, and Jessica is smart enough to know what happened.

"Have you been gambling?"

Harvey's shoulders dance spastically in some kind of twisted shrug. "Maybe."

Jessica rips the drink out of his hand, glares at him hard and slaps him on the back of the head. "Don't be an idiot, Harvey," she _hisses. _Her expression is hard but her eyes are a little bit shinier than they were when he walked in.

Harvey rubs the back of his head to ease the pain. He also wants his drink back, but he highly doubts Jessica's going to hand it over. Frowning, he answers, "'M not an idiot."

"You sure are acting like one."

Had Harvey been sober, he would've taken offense to that. Instead he opens his mouth to explain why _No 'm not, give me my drink_ and, "I miss Donna," comes out instead. Surprisingly, Jessica isn't fazed. She sighs and squeezes his shoulder.

"I know," and her voice is _soft _and maybe a little caring.

Harvey stares at her in bewilderment. "I'm that obvious?"

"Yes." Jessica pats his cheek and downs his drink. She works the empty glass into his hand and smiles, just a little, and Harvey smiles back.

-five-

Mike walks into his office, pale as ghost on Tuesday. Harvey does a double take and stands, a frown clouding his face. "What happened to you?"

"Some of the associates were…" Mike isn't really looking at him; he's looking _past _him, like he can't stand to meet Harvey's eyes. "They were, uh, gossiping. I mean, I think it's gossip, but you never know, you know?"

Harvey isn't an idiot, he knows when Mike is avoiding a question. He grabs Mike's shoulder and forces their eyes to meet. "What were they talking about?"

Mike makes a small squeaking noise; "Your brother," he chokes out. "They were talking about your brother."

"How do…why? What happened?" Harvey decides that he can figure out how lowly associates found out about his well-hidden sibling. Right now, he needs to know why Mike looks so terror-stricken.

"He was on the news…" A greenish color crawls up Mike's neck. "A car accident," he says softly. "A bad one. They've got him in a hospital nearby—but…but the news report was bleak. Things don't look to good for him."

Of all the people to tell him this, Harvey wants to know why it has to be Mike. Why not Donna, or Jessica, or _Donna? _Harvey would rather not shut down in front of the puppy—because he is a _puppy _and therefore not allowed to see Harvey sad. Actually, sad is an understatement; he is not allowed to see Harvey _devastated. _

Harvey tries to swallow, but there's a lump rising from his chest that keeps him from doing so. He takes a step to the side and he hasn't spoken in five minutes, and from the expression Mike is wearing, he guesses his skin has paled beyond normalcy.

Harvey knows he isn't a robot. He knows he has feelings and that, way down deep, he has something of a soft spot for his little brother. Things like that tend to happen when you practically _raised _the kid and got him through college and _you didn't call him this week like you said you would, you never spoke to him, dammit—_

Harvey makes a stifled sound of despair.

The noise prompts a reaction out of Mike. He reaches out, pained, "Harvey…"

"What," Harvey's voice breaks. He clears his throat and tries again, "What hospital is he in?"

Shakily, Mike gives him directions and promises to handle anything Harvey has to deal with that day. Harvey sort of smiles and then he's off, skidding down the streets and parking sloppily, shoving past nurses and telling himself _he's alive, he won't die on you. _

When he's finally directed to his brother's room, Harvey stomps in and hovers. He hates it when people hover—it makes him feel nervous—but right now that's all he can do. Joshua's eyes are closed and his breathing is much too shallow. Harvey presses his fist into his mouth, tears burning in his eyes.

"No," he rasps out, grabbing Joshua's limp hand, "no, don't you _dare _leave me. I won't have another funeral for a family member, Josh, never again. You _know _how things were after Dad died…I can't persuade Mom to live if you die too!"

What he doesn't say is, _"No, I need you, you're my little brother, you're too young to die, please live." _

He isn't sure how much time passes, but he's still hovering by the bedside and still not crying when the machines go _nuts _and Joshua blinks his eyes open.

The first word out of his brother's mouth is, "_Harv?" _and that's all it takes for a leak to spring in Harvey's dam. A tear or two rolls down his cheek.

"Damn, you scared me," he says with mock anger. "Do that again, and I'll kick your ass."

Joshua smiles faintly. "Good—_nrgh—_to see you too, Harv," he mumbles, too weak to say much more.

Harvey hovers until the doctors have to physically remove him from the room.

-and one-

There's a blonde in Harvey's bed when the doorbell wakes him up.

He eases out of the covers as slowly as possible, careful not to wake her. His pants are halfway under the bed and his shirt is no where to be seen—he shrugs and decides that whoever came to his house at seven am on a Saturday didn't deserve him fully clothed anyway.

He answers the door, ready to insult, and Donna is standing in front of him. She stares at him, then his shirtlessness, then her eyes wander back upwards and she quirks an eyebrow.

"Um," he says, resisting the urge to cover himself up (or pose). "You're…here."

"Yes," Donna replies like the very word perplexes her.

"…Why?"

"Is this too soon?" Donna blurts out. Harvey studies her closely and notices bags under her eyes and a blotchiness to her cheeks. "Are you not ready to see me? Because I understand. I don't even know why I came here, it was a dumb ide—"

"—Because you need me." Harvey stares at her, unblinking. "Don't you?" It's hardly a question though. He already knows the answer.

After several moments of silence, Donna nods. "I…I guess so."

Harvey swallows hard. "I…" _need you too_ "…good. The feeling's mutual." He pauses, then, "This couldn't wait until later." That's not a question either, yet he looks at her for an answer.

"No," Donna answers honestly. "Unless you want me to go. Then it can."

"No, stay," Harvey insists. "There's nothing important going on." The blonde is pretty, but she's no Donna.

Donna looks like she's going to burst. "I'm sorry…for everything. For me, too. I'm sorry I lied, and I'm sorry I ruined you—_both _of us, and I'm sorry I'm here, waking you up like it's my job."

"It used to be," Harvey says after a pause. "I wish it still was." He really wishes he had put a shirt on; Donna has the "hug me" face on but seems reluctant due to his lack of clothing.

"I don't. I mean, I do, but you're better off without me. Maybe. Probably."

"Definitely not."

The words make Donna lurch. Her cheeks start to redden and she scrunches up her face—soon there are tears rolling, despite her efforts to keep them at bay.

Harvey instantly forgets about not having a shirt and hugs her with the intention of never letting go.


End file.
